


La Bete

by lindenmae



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Professor Eames, monster hunter arthur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-05
Updated: 2014-11-05
Packaged: 2018-02-24 06:38:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2571803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lindenmae/pseuds/lindenmae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cerdic Eames is a world-renowned folklorist who has always firmly believed in the supernatural, even though he's only got one experience with a black dog when he was six years old to go on.  That is until he encounters a dapper man battling a vicious beast in the middle of Paris and he finds out everything he ever believed is true and then some.</p>
            </blockquote>





	La Bete

**Author's Note:**

> For Inception Reverse Bang. The art that inspired this fic is by bat_hawk!
> 
> I know very little about Paris and I know zero French so if anything referencing France is horribly wrong here, that is why.

It was dark, definitely later than he’d thought. Eames had expected the clock on his desk to read six or seven, nine at the latest, but it steadfastly remained at quarter past eleven no matter how many times he blinked. He'd been caught up in work, fully enveloped in carefully etching out the illustrations for his new book and only looked up upon reaching for a cigarette and finding the packet empty, surprise bringing him out of his flow. His stomach growling startled him; the metaphorical cobwebs in his cupboards not as much. He'd been so lost in his book he'd barely thought of life outside the four walls of his flat - or inside if the quite dead state of his houseplants was proof of anything - for days. He really was feeding the stereotype of the absent minded professor he mused to himself, as he hadn’t spoken to another person since his student assistant had been by the week before.

There was nothing else for it; he’d have to make a grocery run. Luckily there was a convenient little corner store just a few blocks away, open all hours of the day as far as he had seen. The owner was there every time he’d ever been in and knew him by name; which was nice after he’d been cooped up in his flat for days on end, almost forgetting other people existed at all. He barely bothered to slip on shoes before banging out the door and down the stairs, very little on his mind besides replenishing his store of caffeine and nicotine and maybe getting some biscuits.

The bell over the door jingled pleasantly as he stepped through, announcing his presence. The store was deceptively small on the inside, compared the size of the building it was in, but it was always stocked with everything he needed and often times things he didn’t know he needed until he saw them. And it was close.

“Eames, it’s been a while my friend!”

Eames shrugged and smiled, lazily saluting the front of the store with two fingers. Yusuf, the storeowner, stood behind the counter, cigarettes and cigars and the good liquor lining the shelves behind him. To the right there was a doorway blocked by a curtain of brown and tan beads that Eames assumed led to a storeroom or apartment or whatever took up the rest of the building that the grocery didn’t.

“I’d nearly forgotten what the land of the living looked like if I’m quite honest,” he joked.

“Well, I’m afraid you may not run into that many of the living at this hour. Though I am glad to know you have not died alone in your flat and been eaten by rats.”

Yusuf’s cheerful smile did little to offset the macabre tone of his words, and after a moment’s hesitation Eames chose to take it for friendly sarcasm and nodded shortly.

“Cheers, mate.”

He picked up a basket and set about pulling the necessities from the shelves. Half an hour later, his basket was full of mostly non-perishables that would hopefully see him through at least another week, and Yusuf already had his brand of cigarettes waiting on the counter.

“You should try to get out during the day soon, Eames, or else people might mistake you for a vampire.”

“Yes, well. I’m hardly that pale yet, and anyway, my real life is looming. Classes begin in less than a month and sabbaticals can only last so long if I want to keep making money for talking about monsters.”

Yusuf smiled - small and secretive and just the slightest bit unsettling. “I am looking very forward to your finished book.”

“You and my publisher both, mate,” Eames said, hefting the paper bag with a sardonic smile and heading back out into the night.

He carried the grocery bag one handed, digging around inside with the other, blindly searching for the cigarettes. Apparently the one thing that had driven him out in the first place had been relegated to the bottom of the bag, not to be seen until he returned home. It was practically pitch dark except for a random splash of light let off from a dim streetlamp, and the street was barren of pedestrians and drivers alike. The only sounds that registered on Eames' mind as he walked were the rustling of his foodstuffs as he dug around, until a low growl interrupted his search. He paused and glared down at his stomach. He was hungry, but that growl had been peculiarly loud to have come from any one person's belly. Hearing it again louder and closer, he finally looked up and immediately lost his grip on his groceries. The bag hit the ground and broke, fruit and boxes and cans littering the pavement and rolling into the street. The wayward pack of cigarettes ended up under Eames' shoe, but he was far from concerned about that.

Halfway down the street, in the middle of the road and in full view of anyone who should happen to be looking on as Eames was; a giant canine-like creature reared onto its back legs and swiped the air with a massive fore paw. The beast looked to be a mixture of a wolf and perhaps a hyena, stockier than a true wolf with brilliant red fur and two black lines striping its back. Its long jaw was held wide open, teeth like knife points lining both mandibles. The thing was so close Eames could see strings of saliva connecting the upper and lower teeth. On all four feet the beast might have reached to Eames' chest, but rearing like it was, it would tower over a man. Eames breathed in slowly, feet rooted to the spot. The beast let out a blood chilling growl and swiped the air again, and only then did Eames finally notice that he and the beast were not alone.

The beast batted the figure in front of it hard, sending the man staggering sideways. Eames had enough presence of mind to be impressed. He could be sure he would have ended up on his arse after a blow like that. The man, and Eames was fairly certain it was a man though he only had the figure's short hair and three piece suit to judge by, righted himself with unnatural ease and pulled something from his hip with a flourish. It glinted in the light of a streetlamp and Eames could see it was a short sword. _A short sword_ with a wicked point and a gilded hilt and everything. The man swiped through the air between him and the beast in quick determined strokes that did little to drive the animal back.

The creature fell to its feet and, snarling, advanced on the man, eyes seeming to glow red in the dark. The man met the beast's attack with his forearm and Eames gasped as the beast's fearsome teeth locked down. Pricks of red began to bloom on the man's crisp white shirtsleeve, but he only reacted with a grimace of distaste. Instead of crumpling in pain, the man brought the sword up and slid it between the beast's ribs, earning him a pained howl and the release of his arm. He cradled the appendage to his chest as he pulled the blade free, the steel coming away crimson. The beast let out one more mournful howl before batting at the man again, this time knocking him to the ground. In the space between two breaths the beast bounded away, in Eames' direction. He turned his head as the creature passed; catching his awestruck reflection in the beast's massive red eye, and then it was gone, dissolved into the shadows.

"Fuck."

Eames turned his attention back to the man, licking his lips reflexively as he realized his mouth was hanging open in shock. His heart was pounding against his ribcage and he wasn't certain he hadn't just hallucinated the whole thing. But the man was still sitting on the curb, inspecting his bleeding arm with a small frown.

"Avez-vous besoin d'aide?" Eames managed to croak, throat dry.

The man looked up sharply, head snapping in Eames' direction and surprise widening his eyes, as if throughout his battle he hadn't noticed anyone else was there to witness it. Eames had been unsteadily approaching the man, but he stopped still a few feet away. The man was quite handsome in a boyish way, hair slicked back severely in a possible attempt to age himself. His pinstriped slacks and vest hardly looked wrinkled, but the starched white shirt beneath was torn and stained beyond repair.

"Alright, mate?" Eames tried again and the man's surprise quickly returned to displeasure. His frown deepened, revealing creases alongside his mouth that hinted at dimples. Eames suddenly felt eager to know for sure.

The man slowly stood, giving Eames ample time to appreciate his lithe body and contemplate how difficult it must have been to fight off a massive beast in pants that tight. The man made no effort to disguise the way his gaze raked over Eames in turn, and Eames felt himself flush. He wasn't normally one to play bashful, but his ratty jeans and ink-stained undershirt didn't compare to the mysterious man's tailored suit, even bloody as it was. He flexed subconsciously when the man's eyes rested on his torso and felt his heart flutter when it earned him a tiny twitch of the man's pursed lips. Finally the man met Eames' eyes and Eames was surprised to see a hint of amusement there.

"I'll be fine," he said confidently with a voice that was surprisingly but pleasantly deep, even as blood obviously dripped down his fingers and pooled on the pavement at his feet. He turned away, swiftly sheathing the short sword in an honest-to-god scabbard at his hip.

"Oi!" Eames shouted, starting after him, groceries totally forgotten. "You going tell me what all that was?"

"No," the man said, barely turning his head. "And you're not going to tell anyone either."

"And what makes you so certain of that?" Eames demanded.

"Because nobody will believe you," the man quipped; then he winked at Eames and disappeared around the corner into an alley that Eames knew didn't lead anywhere. But when Eames reached the alley mouth it was devoid of anything but a few trash bins and a stray cat.

...

The next day he carted his mostly finished manuscript - illustrations and all - and all of the notes he'd compiled from his home office to his actual office at the university. He'd taken a two year sabbatical for research and writing, and unfortunately his break from life was nearing its end and the real world was beckoning with its bony finger. He woke up that morning unsure that the events of the night before had even been real and not some vivid lucid dream brought about his overworked psyche as a cry for help. The half-crushed pack of cigarettes on his night table was the only memento left to remind him that all of it had actually happened.

His life tended to exist in a constant state of clutter and barely controlled chaos and his office was no exception. It took him a few minutes to clear a space to leave his work without having to worry about mixing it up with a multitude of disordered lecture notes and seminar papers. His book was loosely held together with about a hundred heavy duty paper clips and if he lost even a single page he'd probably lose what tenuous grip on reality he still had. So of course one of the clips chose that moment to snap and send an entire chapter of the manuscript fluttering to the floor.

"Oh bloody fuck."

"Sometimes I worry I'm gonna walk in here and find you crushed under an avalanche of paper."

"A legitimate fear, I'm afraid," Eames mumbled as he tried to sort his papers back into order.

His student assistant Ariadne stood in his doorway, arms crossed over her chest and a disapproving frown on her face.

"It wouldn't be if you took the time to organize your shit."

"I'm sure there's a rule of some sort that demands you watch your tongue around the person who signs your paychecks."

"Good thing it's not you then, huh?"

"Saucy tart."

"Sexual harassment."

Eames tuned her out as he picked up another handful of papers, blood roaring in his ears as he focused on his own scribbled notes.

"Ariadne, have you heard of La Bête du Gevaudan?"

"Um, yeah, I think I pulled some stuff on that for you like a year ago. It was like a hyena or something right?"

"Or something," Eames said softly, mostly to himself.

He'd only included a little blurb about The Beast of Gevaudan in his book and barely a sketch - more like a doodle really. It was there to show that the Beast had a remarkable coat coloring when compared to similar sightings in history - a red coat with black stripes down the back. Just like the creature Eames had seen the dapper man battling with the night before. But the Beast of Gevaudan hadn't been seen since the eighteenth century.

He stayed in his office well into the night, working on his book for a few minutes when he wasn't distracted by thoughts of the beast. The Beast's reign of carnage had been put down to a pack of wolves that had never been caught. Non-believers would of course look for the most logical explanation - Occam's razor and all that - but Eames knew what he'd seen. It was well after midnight by the time he finally decided to drag himself home, none of the work he'd planned for the day even begun.

He'd walked to campus that morning, following the path that took him all the way across and past the pond at the center. As he walked back the same way in the dark, his attention was on France in the eighteenth century and not particularly focused on his present day surroundings, so he was not at all prepared for the sounds of splashing coming from just ahead - where the path curved around the duck pond. It was normally a pleasant spot during the day, where groups of students and professors alike would gather to picnic at the side of the water. Now though, the space was far from tranquil.

Eames stopped short, nearly tripping over his own feet at the sight before him. There was... a horse? There was what looked to be a horse - a very big, very green horse rearing up out of the duck pond and looking right at him. The fact that Eames had never actually seen such a creature before did not prevent him from immediately recognizing it.

"Oh bollocks. A kelpie."

The kelpie stamped its massive foreleg in the soft mud at the edge of the pond and huffed, great gusts of steam erupting from its nostrils. Scales glimmered sporadically along its neck and all down its back until they formed a great serpent tail, slapping down hard into the water.

He stood there frozen for a few terrifying seconds that felt like eons. The kelpie's eyes glowed crimson and the steam billowing from its nostrils suddenly seemed that much more ominous. There was a chance he was still in his office, uncomfortably passed out at his desk and this entire encounter was just a dream brought about by an overactive imagination and stress. Because there was no way that he was currently facing down a kelpie in the university duck pond. And honestly, it was incredibly unlikely he'd been the poor sap to witness the second coming of a creature that hadn't been seen in three hundred odd years. Obviously he'd lost his mind. That was the only explanation.

Eames smiled and nodded to himself, quite pleased with his realization. There was no threat to him now, just like there'd been no threat to him the night before. He was fine. He was safe. He should probably start looking for therapists in the morning. But his heart hadn't quite got the message. It hammered against his ribcage so hard, he was sure his shirt must be fluttering with the pressure of it.

Eames wanted to be a realist, because that was easier. Sometimes he wanted to be the kind of person who did not believe - who saw the world in black and white and did not entertain thoughts of anything existing outside their realm of understanding. But Eames was not that person. So while he desperately wanted to believe that he was safely asleep in his office and not in fact staring down a terrifying horse fish that most definitely wanted to kill him, he couldn't.

"I should have called my mother more," he said sadly, as the kelpie's angry red eyes focused on him.

"What are you doing?! Run, asshole!"

"Oi, that's unnecessary!"

Eames tried to glare in the general direction of where he thought the voice had come from, but it was difficult with the very angry kelpie snorting steam and blocking his view.

"I can only hold it back for so long!"

Eames squinted right as the clouds parted to let the moonlight shine through, illuminating the kelpie in full and... someone riding the kelpie. Well that was new. Eames gasped as recognition dawned on him. It was the dapper man! The dapper man was _riding_ the kelpie! And gesturing at him quite rudely. Well.

The dapper man tried to pull his short sword from the scabbard at the same time the kelpie reared, flames shooting from its mouth. He lost his hold on the sword's hilt and swore, barely able to keep himself on the kelpie's back even as he desperately grasped for the sword before it fell.

"Damnit!"

Luckily the sword didn't land in the pond, but in the muddy sand at the edge.

"Grab it!" The dapper man shouted, still clinging determinedly to the kelpie's back.

In retrospect Eames would like to pretend he didn't hesitate, diving for the sword with a heroic lack of concern for his own life and earthly possessions. But that wouldn't be true. In fact he gingerly sat his satchel and travel mug down safely out of the way before rushing toward the fallen sword. There were at least two chapters of his book that he hadn't illustrated yet in that satchel, and being an old soul he did not have them backed up on his computer, because he had not turned it on in over a month.

He curled his fingers around the hilt and pulled the sword from the sand, only a tiny thrill surging through his loins at the Arthurian parallels.

"Toss it to me," the dapper man yelled.

But the kelpie was thrashing wildly by this point and Eames didn't trust his own ability to toss the unwieldy weapon straight or the dapper man's ability to catch it. If it sunk to the bottom of the pond it would be no good to anybody. Luckily Eames was very English and while fifteen years of fencing training did not qualify him to fight a mythological water creature with a short sword, five years of fighting black knights in close combat for the favor of the princess in a traveling Renaissance Faire sort of almost did. So Eames grasped the short-sword solidly in his right hand and thrust upward right as the kelpie's wide open and terrifying jaws came at him, hitting the creature right at the base of its skull.

The kelpie heaved one final blistering breath in Eames' face, rearing once more in an angry death throe. The sword hilt was ripped from Eames' grip as the kelpie threw its head back in anger and pain, red eyes wide and quickly dimming. The dapper man leapt from the kelpie's back before it could go down and take him with it. He landed hard on the ground, rolling gracefully with the momentum and coming to a rest about a foot away from where Eames stood. The kelpie thrashed one final time, sending up small waves of green water that lapped at their shoes.

They waited together in silence while the kelpie's movements stilled, both breathing heavily. Once the kelpie was finally no longer moving, the dapper man stepped forward to inspect it, kicking it once in the chest. Then he pulled the short sword from the kelpie's neck and re-sheathed it.

"You should have run when I told you," the dapper man said once he turned around, glaring at Eames.

"Excuse me?"

"You could have gotten the both of us killed. What kind of maniac sees a bona fide _monster_ and just stands there? _Twice_!"

"Now look here, mate," Eames began. He took an indignant step forward, bunching up his shoulders. " _I_ killed it, while you were busy playing cowboy up there."

The dapper man narrowed his eyes and straightened to his full height, not intimidated at all.

"Who _are_ you?" He asked in that deceptively deep voice.

"I think I've more of a right to that answer, don't you?"

For a moment, Eames thought the dapper man would ignore him and disappear just like the night before, but then his face softened and Eames was struck again at how youthful he looked. He wasn't dressed so nicely this time in dark jeans and a leather jacket. Apparently a three piece suit wasn't a requirement for monster fighting, though he still looked quite dapper even in street clothes. There was barely a wrinkle to be seen.

"Arthur," the dapper man said after a long beat, and held out his hand. Eames took it tentatively, though he curled his lips into an appreciative smile.

"Eames," he said in return, letting his voice slip into a low rumble.

Arthur's face flashed a series of emotions in rapid succession, too quick for Eames to catch, until he settled on a look of surprise and appreciation.

"Eames? Cerdic Eames? The folklorist?" Arthur actually looked impressed.

"Yes..." Eames hedged, honestly surprised to be recognized.

"Your work is very impressive," Arthur said with a small smile. It looked smug to Eames, but the dimples he'd seen hinted at the night before did exist he found.

"Obviously I am at a disadvantage here. You seem to know quite a bit about me and all I've got is a first name and now two stories no one will believe."

"We're in the same professional field, Mr. Eames. Your work is invaluable to mine."

"Doctor," Eames interjected petulantly.

"Hmm?"

"It's Doctor Eames. I have a PhD that I worked very hard for." Arthur's amused smile made him feel like a child throwing a tantrum over something insignificant, but he could intimately feel how uneven the playing field between them was.

"My apologies, _Doctor_ Eames. As I said, your work is invaluable. I shouldn't have been so hasty to assume you were a worthless passerby getting in my way."

Eames bristled. "Are you mocking me?"

"Not at all. I think you're brilliant. I've read everything you've ever written. You get things surprisingly accurate for a civilian."

"I'm very thorough," Eames huffed, barely keeping from pouting.

"Are you?" Arthur asked, looking delighted. Eames was not prone to blushing, but he felt warmth coil in his belly at the way Arthur was positively leering at him. It reminded him of the night before and the way Arthur had raked his gaze up and down Eames' body.

"I'd love to show you just how thorough I can be, darling," he purred, never one to be outdone. Arthur, he was ecstatic to see, was a blusher as the tips of his ears turned a rosy shade clearly visible even with only the moonlight to illuminate them.

"Maybe next time," Arthur promised with another infuriating wink, but Eames had knocked him off his guard. He'd seen it, and this time when Arthur slipped into the shadows and disappeared Eames smiled after him. Where the kelpie had been there was only a mound of loam and delicate white flowers. The pond water had already calmed and looked placid as ever, as if nothing had disturbed it.

…

Eames didn’t have to wait long to see Arthur again, and this time not even accompanied by a creature straight out of Eames’ book. Actually the man in Arthur’s company might have been even more frightening and gruesome, as he was Eames’ boss. Arthur was once again dressed to the nines in pants that were obscenely tight, but as it was the first official day of classes Eames was at least wearing a suit, so he didn’t feel too out of place. Arthur outright grinned when he caught sight of him, though it was fleeting and gone before Eames could blink, it had been there and it made something beneath his sternum loosen.

He was walking with a student, discussing potential teaching assistant positions, but once he saw Arthur his focus was completely lost.

“So, I’ll just come by your office later then, Professor? Professor?”

“What? Oh, yes, very good. I have to apologize if I’m a bit scatterbrained.”

“Of course, Professor. I understand completely. I’m really looking forward to your book.”

“Thank you, Mr. Fischer,” Eames said warmly, tearing his gaze away from Arthur long enough to smile at the young man. “Make an appointment with Ariadne. We’ll work something out.”

“Great! Thank you so much, Professor Eames. I’m really looking forward to this term.”

Eames just had time to see Fischer off before he realized that Miles and Arthur were coming his way.

“Ah, Cerdic, and how have your classes gone today?”

Eames forced a pleasant smile, glancing only briefly at Arthur to gauge his own reaction. Arthur’s face was slack and impassive, as if he couldn’t care less about Eames’ presence, the exact opposite of what it had been only a moment ago.

“Miles,” he said, holding out his hand to greet the Dean of his department warmly. “As good as I could have hoped, I suppose. Not as rusty as I’d expected, so I guess I’ll call it a win.”

“Very good. You were sorely missed while you were away.” Miles said with a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

Arthur’s eyes sparkled with amusement as he smirked at Eames from over Miles’ shoulder, but his body language portrayed him as every bit the professional, though professional _what_ was a very good question.

“Oh, where are my manners?” Miles said, gesturing Arthur forward. Arthur schooled his expression with practiced skill and reached out a hand as if he’d never seen Eames before in his life. “Cerdic, this is Arthur. Arthur, Professor Cerdic Eames. Arthur is quite the fan of your work.”

“Is that so?” Eames drawled, wrapping his fingers around Arthur’s palm a bit tighter than necessary, stroking a bit at the base of Arthur’s thumb with the pad of his index finger. The apples of Arthur’s cheeks darkened a bit, his only tell that he’d even noticed.

“Arthur is my nephew,” Miles continued, oblivious. Eames held onto Arthur’s hand a beat longer than was necessary or appropriate, enjoying the way the corners of Arthur’s mouth twitched against a smile. “He’s here with my son, researching a series of animal attacks that occurred several hundred years ago in Lozere.”

“Ah, La Bête du Gevaudan?” Eames hedged, doing his best to mask the way his heart rate had picked up just a tick at the memory of his own reflection in the beast’s massive eye the night he had first seen Arthur. Arthur’s eyes widened and even Miles looked a bit surprised at Eames’ assumption.

“You know it?” Arthur asked, voice a bit breathy. Eames tutted, feathers ruffled.

“I am the leading folklorist in France, if not Europe. I may not be an expert, but I have done my research.”

“How modest,” Miles sighed almost to himself, glancing at his watch.

Arthur barely looked fazed, eyes sparkling again. “Perhaps you could speak with me more on the subject, _Doctor_. I’d be truly grateful for any information you could share.”

Arthur’s eyes went heavy lidded, and he looked beseechingly at Eames from beneath ridiculously lush lashes. The warm curl of lust in the pit of Eames’ belly was exactly what Arthur was going for, he was sure. Well, mission accomplished.

“I’d be glad to speak with you now, darling. If you’re free?”

Arthur barely glanced at Miles before he was already striding away. “Have Dom call me if it is _very important_ ,” he tossed over his shoulder with a quirk of his eyebrow that said this Dom character should hopefully not be calling at all.

Eames took that for the directive it was, and with a quick nod to an almost aghast Miles, he quickly followed after Arthur, taking a brief moment to appreciate what the man’s sartorial choices did for his arse when he wasn’t busy fighting monsters.

…

“So, Eames,” Arthur began once they’d gotten a ways away from the lecture hall. “What got you interested in folklore?”

“If you’re such an ardent admirer of my work, then I believe you should already know.”

“Humor me, Professor Eames,” Arthur said, tilting his head so that he was once again looking up from beneath his lashes. It was unfairly convincing.

“Well, normally I’d begin by assuring you that you’ll never believe me, but in this case I think you might.”

Arthur smiled and bumped Eames’ shoulder, walking so closely next to him that Eames could feel the heat of Arthur’s skin beneath his suit.

Eames had never been shy about describing the event that had led to a lifelong love affair with the supernatural. He opened every class and seminar he taught with the anecdote, but left it up to his students and colleagues to decide if they believed the experience. He did. But until the beast and the dapper man, he'd never had such an experience again despite all his years of research and all the stories he'd heard. He supposed he'd inherited his stern Scottish grandmother's superstitious nature. She'd wholeheartedly believed the happy babble of a six year old - who should have by all rights been traumatized after being lost in the woods for almost a day- as he told her all about the doggy that had brought him home.

“When I was young, I spent many of my school breaks with my grandparents at their farm in Scotland. I had chores I was expected to do, but they left me to my own devices for the most part. My grandmother would take me on walks around the property, through the woods, to the closest village, all the while telling me stories of the fae, what to look for, how to keep them happy. I distinctly recall her warning me not to stray too close to the edge of the loch lest a kelpie snatch me in its jaws and make me its dinner. Funnily she never warned me about the threat of kelpies in university duck ponds.” He chanced a quick glance at Arthur to find him smiling, dimples on full display.

“I could hardly get enough of her tales, and one day when my grandfather was out in the fields and my grandmother was in the kitchen and all my chores were done and I was positively bored out of my skull, I decided that I would find a playmate. So I wandered off into the woods on my own, looking for the Ghillie Dhu, to see if he would play with me. I never found him, but I did find myself terribly lost with no idea where the way home was and night falling rather rapidly. At one point I sat down and began to cry. I really had no idea the amount of trouble I was actually in, only that I was hungry and wanted a hug.

“I’ve no idea how long I sat there before I became aware that I wasn’t alone, but at some point I opened my eyes and sitting on its haunches right in front of me was a great, coal black dog. It positively dwarfed me, but I, being a child and a bit of an idiot, immediately reached out to pet it and it let me. After a moment it got up and guided me back to the road and it stayed with me until I could see the lights of the farmhouse. Then it was gone. I’d gone happily up the lane, practically whistling to myself in my innocence until my grandmother caught sight of me and nearly fainted out of relief.

“She smacked my bum for wandering off then squeezed me so tight I had to beg to be let go for the sake of taking a breath. Later that night, we walked back down the lane, me holding tightly to her hand so she could leave a perfectly good hunk of mutton at the edge of the woods.  
‘To thank the spirits for keeping you safe,’ she said to me and ruffled my hair.

“I still remember how the dog's coarse fur felt clutched in my grubby fingers, and the warmth of its breath against my cheek as it nudged me back toward the road and home. I earned my first degree with a paper on the mythology of the black dog specter, because I am quite sure that is what I encountered, despite the fact that many of the stories deal with death.”

Arthur’s smile was smaller and softer, but seemed a bit more honest from Eames’ perspective now that he’d finished his story.

“I actually had a similar experience in Connecticut,” Arthur said quietly, letting his arm brush against Eames’ and rest there. “Of course, working with the supernatural is kind of a family business for me.”

“Do elaborate,” Eames said weakly. As much research as he’d done in his life, and as much as he’d believed every single one of the stories his grandmother told him, it was a bit much to look at this young man and truly believe that each of their encounters had been real and that Arthur was some sort of supernatural hunter.

“I’m not a hunter,” Arthur said right away, as if he could read Eames’ thoughts. “Think of it more like a supernatural policeman. My job is to keep the balance between the supernatural world and the mortal one.”

“Alright… But you killed the kelpie.”

“If I hadn’t it would have made a feast out of your students. Can you imagine the panic if people started disappearing from the middle of campus? God forbid if somebody actually saw the thing. Either nobody would believe the poor sap or there’d be a media circus and your campus duck pond would become the new Loch Ness and I’d be called in anyway, only it’d be too late.”

“So you’re saying that Nessie..?”

“Cirein-cròin; a family of them actually, who are alive and well. Surprisingly sea serpents are better at staying hidden than kelpies are.”

“And when you say this is a family business for you…” Eames trailed off, feeling lightheaded.

“I can trace my family line back to St. George.”

“The dragon slayer?”

Arthur nodded proudly. “Miles is my uncle by marriage. My cousin Dom is my partner.”

“This is all a bit much to take in, if I’m being honest.” Eames felt as if his entire world had been shifted, but whether it felt better this way he wasn’t sure.

“That’s alright. Take your time digesting it. Now, is this research of yours on La Bête at your apartment?”

“Well, actually it’s –“

“Excellent,” Arthur interrupted, looking positively gleeful. “Is your apartment walking distance or should I hail us a cab?”

…

Arthur was on him before they’d even reached his front door, lips surprisingly soft but body firm and warm. They stumbled up the stairs, Arthur barely giving Eames a chance to get his key in the door, but he wasn’t exactly complaining. His hip slammed into the stairwell banister and he knocked his heel against the corner of a step, then his head slammed against his door knocker, but the pain was minor compared to the feeling of Arthur’s sure fingers twisted in his hair.

“Didn’t you want – Arthur – the beast – my notes – didn’t you want to talk about – “ Eames gasped out whatever words he could whenever Arthur gave him a chance as they practically tangoed across his living room, but Arthur was less than interested in what Eames had to say.

“Sure, yeah, of course. _Later_.”

“Yes, later. Later is good,” Eames gasped as Arthur set about undoing Eames’ belt without removing his mouth from the side of Eames’ neck.

His sex life had been all but non-existent since he’d begun seriously focusing on his book, and Arthur was possibly one of the fittest men he’d ever seen let alone gotten this close to fucking. He really needed to get his priorities straight. Yes he loved talking about his work. He was a professor after all. But Arthur did not seem interested in talking and Eames was very interested in what Arthur was interested in at this moment because it seemed to be Eames’ dick.

“Get your shirt off, c’mon,” Arthur whined, breaking contact only long enough to get his own jacket and shirt over his shoulders. He didn’t even pause to undo all the buttons before he was pulling it over his head. Eames was impressed none of them popped since the shirt seemed to fit him like a second skin.

Arthur’s skin was pale and his body was just as toned and lithe as his clothes had hinted, but it was far from unblemished. Scars littered his torso, small and large, hinting at just how dangerous his chosen occupation really was. A white bandage was wrapped around his forearm where the beast had clamped its jaws, and there were still hints of rust colored stain seeping through the gauze even so many days later. Eames fit his palms over Arthur’s sharp hipbones, thumbs stroking over two very different scars on either side of his waist.

“Hazards of the job,” Arthur shrugged, completely unabashed about his appearance.

Eames nodded sagely. He held up a hand, splaying his fingers so that Arthur could see the pads of each one. “I too have my fair share of war wounds.”

Arthur smiled widely. “Do you?”

“Oh yes,” Eames said seriously. “Paper cuts are a serious danger in my line of work. I’ve heard of lesser men giving up on the illustrious career that is a university professor because the fear of all the paper cuts is so overwhelming. Student papers are nasty little buggers.”

“You are a brave man, Eames. I am honored to be in your presence,” Arthur laughed, before slowly and deliberately kissing the tip of each of Eames’ fingers.

The moment was surprisingly sweet until Arthur grinned sharply and shoved Eames backward until his knees hit the edge of his couch and he went down. Arthur was quick to straddle him, grinding their crotches together and eliciting a deep moan from Eames. He was well into completing his earlier task of getting Eames’ belt undone and out of his pants when a phone began to ring shrilly from somewhere in the room.

Arthur ignored it at first, fixated on getting his hand into Eames’ trousers, but it began to ring again almost as soon as it stopped, almost shriller the second time around.

“Goddamnit,” he groaned, hands stilling their movements as he dropped his forehead to rest against Eames’ shoulder. “I’m going to kill him.”

Arthur slowly slid off of Eames lap, deliberate enough to have Eames throwing his head back against the backrest of his couch in frustration. Arthur’s pants sagged teasingly low on his hips, revealing the swell of his cheeks and just the hint of the cleft, leaving Eames’ mouth watering even as it seemed, as Arthur’s phone began ringing _again_ , that whatever they had just started was not going to be finished anytime soon.

“ _What_ , Dom?” Arthur hissed into his phone as soon as he’d managed to free it from his jacket pocket. He kept his back to Eames, who kept himself entertained by following the moles and scar tissue that decorated his skin with his eyes. Arthur paused for a long time while Eames could faintly hear the rather angry voice of Arthur’s cousin on the other end making his displeasure clear. “Fine. Fine! I’m coming. Do not go do something stupid without me.”

Arthur glanced over his shoulder, apology written all over his face. “I have to go make sure Dom doesn’t get himself killed doing something only he thinks is heroic.”

“Understandable,” Eames sighed. “Will I see you again? We never did talk about the beast.”

Arthur smiled and ran a hand through his hair. It had lost some of its rigidity in their earlier haste and a lock of it kept falling into his face, making him look a million times more youthful and impish.

“You’re right. One thing you should know about me, Professor. I don’t like to leave things unfinished,” he said as he gathered up his things from where they’d been strewn across the hardwood floor. “You’ll most definitely be seeing me again.”

“Very good,” Eames whispered once Arthur was mostly dressed and out the door, then he slid his hand into his pants and set about imagining all the different ways the rest of their afternoon could have gone if Arthur’s phone had never rung.

…

He was awakened some time later by his own phone ringing somewhere on the floor. He had a crick in his neck and dried come on his stomach, but he felt far better rested than he had in nearly a year so he couldn’t be too put out.

“H’lo?” He mumbled as soon he thought he’d managed to accept the call.

“Dr. Eames? It’s Ariadne. Mr. Saito wants to set up a video conference to talk about the book like right now.”

“Did we have an appointment?” He honestly wouldn’t have been too surprised if he’d forgotten. That was the major reason he kept Ariadne around – because he’d never get anything done without her.

“Actually, no. You’re in the clear for once. I mean I can tell him it’s not a good time, but you said –“

“No, no, dear girl. I can be to my office in twenty minutes at the most. You should scan some of the finished pages so he’ll have something to look at.”

“Which ones? Eames, this book is like bigger than a phonebook, scanning this would take the rest of my life.”

“Right, of course. Um, perhaps the chapter on Japan. That seems relevant right?’

“Oh yeah sure. That’ll probably only take me a few days. I’ll just get started on that.”

“Brilliant.”

When he got to his office less than fifteen minutes later, belly scrubbed and hair combed, he found Ariadne sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the scanner with her laptop open on the desk chair in front of her and pages of Eames book scattered on the floor around her like the petals of a particularly important flower. She was staring at one of the pages she had scanned, her mouth hanging open just slightly. She barely stirred when he came flying through the door, shoes skidding a few inches on the linoleum.

“Eames?”

“Yes?”

Ariadne turned just slightly, holding up the previously scanned page while she kept looking at the image on her screen.

“Did you draw Saito in your illustration of Ryūjin on purpose?”

“Nonsense,” Eames said, setting down his satchel on his desk and setting about straightening his clothes, trying to look as professional as possible. “I drew a dragon. Saito is a man.”

“Yeah. A dragon that looks like Saito.”

“Ariadne, honestly –“ he scoffed, taking the page from her outstretched hand to have a look himself. “Oh.”

“I mean, I’ve never seen your mysterious benefactor in the flesh but I’ve seen pictures and there is definitely a resemblance.”

The illustration id look a bit like Saito. It was subtle enough that the average reader would probably never notice a resemblance to anyone, but Ariadne noticed which means the man himself would almost definitely notice.

“Perhaps we should send him a different chapter…”

“Oh.”

Eames turned sharply. “Oh what.”

She shrugged, looking positively sheepish. “I didn’t know how long it was going to take me to scan all this so I split up the pdf files and I already sent the one with that page over… I didn’t notice the resemblance until I’d already done it!”

Eames squared his shoulders even as he felt his heart sinking and put on a brave face. “Let’s just hope the man has a sense of humor then. Maybe he’ll even take it as a compliment.”

“Is this a sign of repressed racist feelings against the Japanese?” Ariadne asked, expression totally earnest.

“Good God woman, what? No! It was an accident!”

“It just seems kinda weird that you drew like the only Japanese person you know into one of the Japanese creatures.”

“You – It’s not – I’m not – If anything it’s a simple case of subconscious association. You’ve been spending far too much time on that jumbler website.“

“You mean _tumblr_?” Ariadne asked snidely. “God, you are so old.”

Eames was saved – for a degree of the word - by Ariadne’s computer ringing, indicating an incoming video call.

“Ah, Mr. Saito. Good afternoon!”

Saito’s face appeared on the screen. He wasn’t smiling, but he didn’t particularly look like he was frowning either, which was hopefully a good sign.

“Dr. Eames. I have had a chance to briefly glance at the pages you have sent over and I am pleased. If the rest of your work is to this caliber then I believe we should be close to being ready to publish.”

“That is very good to hear, I must say.”

Saito waved a hand, brushing off Eames’ comment. “I was never worried. I came to you with this proposition for a reason, Dr. Eames.”

“Because I’m the best at what I do?” Eames only half-joked.

“Exactly.” Saito’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I am perhaps the most impressed with your entry on the dragon god Ryūjin. The artwork is exceptional.”

Eames couldn’t be sure if the smirk he thought he saw on Saito’s face was actually a display of amusement or a glitch on the computer.

“Well, thank you, Mr. Saito. I do appreciate your continued support.”

“Of course, Doctor. I have a vested interest in seeing this bestiary of yours completed.”

“Ah, well, I wasn’t aware that glorified encyclopedias were such a valuable investment anymore.”

Saito only smiled enigmatically. “I consider this a worthwhile investment and therefore so does my publishing company. Please send me the rest of your work as it becomes ready, Doctor. I am eager for the finished product.”

“Yeah…” Eames trailed off, remembering what Yusuf had said to him at the market the other night. “Maybe a month or so more, Mr. Saito. Just to make sure it’s all up to my perfectionist standards.”

“Glad to hear. Goodnight, Dr. Eames. Miss Ariadne.” With that Saito’s face disappeared from the screen and Eames found himself suddenly able to breathe freely again.

“Did he always own the publishing company?” Ariadne asked, still seated in front of the scanner.

“No. He bought one shortly after he contacted me. Said it made things neater.”

“Wouldn’t the university normally publish a tenured professor’s book? It just seems so weird that this random guy seeks you out to get you to write an encyclopedia.”

“This is my life’s work, a compilation of all of my research with the likely possibility of future editions. I imagine the university would go bankrupt just imagining printing the first volume. And I was introduced to Saito through Miles, whose connections are turning out to be much further reaching than I ever knew.”

“What do you mean?” Ariadne looked up at him quizzically, a smudge of graphite darkening the tip of her nose.

“Ah, nothing. I met his nephew earlier today.”

“Oh really?” Ariadne tried to waggle her eyebrows, but it only made her look as if her face was having a spasm.

“We are going to have to have a talk about your lack of professionalism one of these days.”

“You love me,” she sang to herself, pushing up off the floor. “You love me so much you’re going to buy me dinner.”

“Yes, well, only because I’m feeling a bit famished myself.”

“Dr. Eames?”

Eames spun around at the sound of his name to find Miles and a stranger who looked a lot like a younger version of Miles standing in the doorway to his office.

“I’m sorry, Ariadne, but that dinner might have to wait.”

“What? No, but I’m so hungry,” she whined, but Eames ignored her.

“You must be the infamous Dom then?”

The younger Miles squinted in a way that made him look either confused or constipated until the older Miles put a placating hand on his shoulder and leaned in.

“He’s already met Arthur.”

“What? When?”

“When Arthur was supposed to be getting his notes on the beast.”

“But Arthur doesn’t have the notes. If he had the notes, then _I_ wouldn’t be here getting the notes.”

Dom had gone so cross-eyed Eames was legitimately worried his face might stay that way. Miles patted his son’s shoulder and nodded slowly.

“Obviously Arthur got distracted,” he said, eyeing Eames knowingly.

“Hardly. This wanker interrupted us before we could get to the good part,” he muttered, just to see how red Dom could get. “And where is the lovely Arthur?”

“We had an encounter with the beast earlier.”

“And?” Eames demanded, heart beating a little faster.

“He was injured,” Dom said nonchalantly, as if Eames had never seen Arthur fight, as if he didn’t know what it took to actually injure Arthur. “We need your research on the beast. It’s stronger than we initially judged. There has to be a way to trap it at least, and you’re the closest link to what that might be.”

“I want to see Arthur.”

“What?” Dom looked bewildered, as if he wasn’t used to his commands being ignored. “Don’t be ridiculous. The beast is out there! I need those notes now!”

Eames was suddenly insanely glad for the chaos his office was constantly in. “Ariadne and I are the only two people who know exactly where my notes are. You’re welcome to search but good luck finding anything in here.”

Dom gaped, looking between his father and Eames as if there was something that he just wasn’t seeing that would make the entire situation make sense and fall into place. Miles only sighed.

“I knew you were going to be difficult when I hired you, Cerdic. You’ve been an invaluable asset to this school and The Order without ever knowing it, but you are a right pain in my ass.”

Eames almost wanted to preen at the fond way Miles berated him.

“Take him to Arthur, Dom,” Miles instructed calmly. Dom closed his mouth only to open it again immediately on an aborted word, several times in a row. It made Eames wonder briefly if Dom wasn’t actually some sort of fish creature. Weirder things had happened, quite literally in this situation.

“This is ridiculous,” Dom finally blustered, turning a bit red, but he was also beginning to look the tiniest bit resigned so Eames counted it a win. “That _thing_ killed my wife,” he growled out, pointing a finger directly at Eames, before turning and stomping down the hall.

Admittedly that did make Eames feel kind of like a dick, but not enough to give Dom the notes right there and then. He gave Ariadne a pointed look that said ‘you find the notes’ because he had no idea where they were in the mess of his things. They’d done extensive research on every supernatural instance in history they could find, but not everything could be included in the book if they wanted it to be transportable without a forklift. La Bete du Gevaudan was one of those instances that had been mostly cut, because whether Eames personally believed it or not, a plausible explanation for the creature’s rampage had been found, so Eames had been content to include it only as a note in another creature’s story. But after all that had happened, he was beginning to form his own theories as to exactly what the beast might have actually been.

...

Dom took them to a familiar street corner, and Eames almost wanted to laugh at the absurd farce his life was turning into. He kept telling people that he was best in his field, the greatest folklorist in France if not Europe if not the world, and yet somehow the supernatural had been right under his nose this entire time and he’d completely missed it. The lights in Yusuf’s grocery were off for the first time Eames had ever seen, but the door was evidently unlocked since Dom was able to push it open with ease, bells over the frame tinkling jauntily.

“Eames,” Yusuf said happily, parting the beads blocking the back room. He was wiping his hands on a cloth that Eames thought was probably supposed to white, but had been stained red, edges of the stains already turning brown. It made him feel ill. “Arthur told me you’ve finally been informed of The Order’s existence. This is great news. I was beginning to worry the pieces would never fall into place.”

Eames glared at him halfheartedly as their ragtag group trudged through the doorway into the backroom that Eames had never seen. What was actually in it was quite a bit different from anything he’d ever imagined. There were all sorts of assortments of bones and feathers and dried out animal husks hanging from the walls, along with various bottles and boxes and what looked to be a miniature greenhouse in one corner, containing a myriad of plants and flowers the likes of which Eames had never seen before. He squinted at one bottle on a shelf near his head as he passed and squealed weakly when he realized it was full of tiny eyeballs with a label that read ‘Eye of Newt’. He wasn’t sure if it was an elaborate joke or not.

There was another doorway at the back of this room, leading to a staircase that lead to the apartment Eames had initially expected. After traipsing through the alternate reality that was Yusuf’s backroom, Eames was pleasantly surprised to find that the apartment looked completely normal, perhaps even more cozy and mundane than Eames’ own. Arthur was laid out on a comfortable looking overstuffed couch, bandages wrapped tightly around his bare torso. There were spots of blood seeping through the gauze, but not enough to make Eames too worried, especially since Arthur looked completely alert, expression perking up when he spotted Eames.

“You’re here.” Arthur smiled, wincing when he tried to sit up and then thinking better of it.

“Oi, I’m here. At my grocer’s, who is apparently some kind of witch.”

“Witch doctor actually,” Yusuf interjected helpfully, busying himself in the kitchen making what look to be tea, but Eames couldn’t trust his own judgment anymore. He rolled his eyes and slumped his shoulders.

“My boss is in charge of a supernatural police force, my grocer is a witch doctor,” he lamented, side eyeing Ariadne. “You’re not going to suddenly tell me you’re a pixie are you?”

“Is that a comment on my height?” Ariadne fisted her hands on her hips and glared at him.

“Yes, everybody you know is actually a mythological creature. There’s Arthur. Now give me your notes on La Bete,” Dom growled, having absolutely no patience for the way Eames’ world was crumbling down around him.

“You’re a bit of a prick, you know that?” Eames grumbled as Ariadne pulled a pile of papers from her bag. Arthur laughed which made Eames’ heart tumble against his ribs, but Miles only frowned as Dom looked as if he wished he could spit fire and roast Eames where he stood.

“That monster killed my wife. I’m going to stop it before it can hurt anyone else.”

“Look, mate, not to rub salt in the wound or anything, but how exactly did your wife die?”

Dom looked taken aback for a fleeting moment before he steeled his expression again. “We were visiting family in Lozere when sightings of La Bete started again. At first it was just mutilated animal carcasses being found at the edge of the woods; then it was La Bete itself spotted through the trees. One night my wife decided to take a walk around her family’s property and she never came back. All we found of her the next morning was one of her shoes. My children were in that house. They could have been hurt and now they have no mother because of that monster!” Dom’s chest was heaving and Eames did feel a bit bad for asking for asking the question, but he needed to know.

“So no one saw your wife die and no one’s found a body?”

“What are you saying?” Dom growled, eyes flashing with barely repressed anger.

“I don’t know yet,” Eames admitted. “I didn’t quite believe the way the eighteenth century sightings were explained away, but there was very little evidence outside of eyewitness testimony to support an actual supernatural occurrence. Supposedly the beast was killed by a hunter, but there was no body to be examined. The attacks just simply stopped. If it had been a pack of wolves like popular theory suggests, then did this hunter kill them all? Or did they simply move on to a new territory for no reason? If there was only one beast and this hunter killed it, why did he dispose of the carcass?”

“What are you thinking, Eames?” Arthur piped up from the couch, leaning as far forward as he could, eyes wide and intrigued.

“Well I know it’s a bit cliché to jump straight to loup garou, but… well… loup garou,” he said weakly.

“You think the hunter _was_ the beast?” Arthur looked like he was battling between disbelief and outright interest, but the expression on Dom’s face said he thought Eames was possibly the biggest idiot he’d ever seen.

“Well it’s that or he created it somehow and really did have to put it down. There are theories of course that he bred a hyena with his hunting dog, but I find those to be a little far-fetched.”

“But werewolf is perfectly logical?” Dom’s voice was flat and not amused.

Eames bristled. “I killed a kelpie, mate. Nothing seems particularly logical anymore!”

“Okay, could everyone just hold on a second? I think I’ve been pretty patient but could somebody please tell me what the fuck is going on?”

Every head in the room turned to Ariadne, who was standing near the doorway with her arms crossed over her chest, glaring.

…

“Alright, so everything Eames has ever written about is real? And you killed a kelpie?! This is insane. This is amazing!” Ariadne took surprisingly easily to the whole ‘every myth and legend you’ve ever heard is probably real speech’. “So then, what exactly is so important about Eames? I mean, yeah he’s got a lot of experience under his belt -” she said with a flippant hand wave. Eames narrowed his eyes at her.

“I feel like that was another comment on my age,” he said.

“But like why couldn’t you guys research this thing on your own? I’m pretty sure there’s a Wikipedia page on it.”

Dom snorted derisively, but Yusuf began to explain before Dom could open his mouth. He’d given everyone a cup of tea and invited them to sit, but Eames had only eyed his cup distrustfully and had yet to take a sip.

“Eames has a unique gift,” he started.

“Ohhh no. No. No. Don’t you dare tell me I’m some mythical creature now.”

“No, Eames. Rest assured you are quite human.”

“You are, what may be most easily described as a seer of sorts,” Miles chimed in.

“I’m pretty certain I haven’t had any premonitions lately,” Eames snorted, not particularly pleased with the direction the conversation was taking.

“No, you wouldn’t as you are not that type of seer. Someone with your abilities would be best suited for the role of an oracle or a fortune teller. Not someone who has visions themselves, but someone who makes sense of signals or signs. You have an uncanny ability to see the truth where others see only pictures or words.”

“You are untrained,” Yusuf added. “Which is why you’re not aware you’re doing it, but your instincts are there nonetheless.”

“So you’re saying that my theory about the beast being a werewolf is most likely right simply because I am me?” Eames smirked smugly in Dom’s direction and the man glared daggers back.

“More or less,” Arthur interjected from the couch. “It’s why your work is so invaluable and why so many people have been pushing for you to finish your bestiary. But that’s not to say that the beast _is_ a werewolf,” he amended hastily after a dark glance from Dom.

“Oh my God!” Ariadne suddenly shouted, quelling any fight before it could start. “Eames, you drew Saito’s face on the Japanese dragon god! Does this mean Saito _is_ the dragon god?”

Everyone in the room but the two of them nodded solemnly.

“Well this just keeps getting lovelier and lovelier,” Eames muttered to himself.

“Whatever this creature is, we need a plan to take it down before it hurts anyone else. If it is a werewolf, it’s unlike any we’ve ever encountered before, so I’m not sure we can expect traditional methods to work on it,” Arthur said, gingerly easing himself into a sitting position.

“Perhaps a mutated gene? Unique to a certain family, maybe?” Eames hedged, throwing out ideas as they came to him, feeling possibly a bit too overconfident now that he’d been basically informed he was almost always right. “The beast was first seen in Lozere this time, correct?”

“Lozere used to be Gevaudan!” Ariadne exclaimed, brightening. “If it’s a family that’s been there for generations, it could totally be possible.”

“But it hasn’t been seen for _centuries_ ,” Dom insisted. “This is ridiculous. If we don’t stop that thing, more people are going to get hurt. I’m leaving,” he thundered, throwing them all one last dirty look before storming out of the apartment.

Miles looked forlornly after him and sighed, turning back to face the rest of the group. “He’s in mourning,” he reminded them, but there wasn’t a lot of emphasis behind it, only sorrow. “Thank you for your help, Cerdic.” At least Eames could tell he meant that.

Miles turned to go himself, shoulders slumped.

“Wait!” Eames demanded, perhaps a bit too loudly. “I know the werewolf idea is a bit out of the box, but there are just too many details that don’t add up. Like why La Bete is even in Paris to begin with. Last time it was never seen outside of Gevaudan and it was first seen in that same region this time around as well. Why did it come _here_?”

Arthur looked at him, realization dawning in his expression. He struggled to a stand, keeping an arm wrapped carefully around his middle. “The Beast came to Paris the same time Dom did. Dom came back from Lozere after Mal died. He brought his kids back to Paris so they wouldn’t get hurt, but then suddenly people were seeing the creature here so he sent James and Philippa back to Lozere but he stayed… and The Beast did too.”

Arthur and Miles wore twin expressions of horror while Yusuf simply looked intrigued. Everyone was quiet, a heavy cloud of solemnity settling over the room.

“So, Dom’s the werewolf,” Ariadne finally said frankly, interrupting the silence.

Eames glanced at Arthur and his heart sank at the obvious confliction on Arthur’s face. Dom was Arthur’s family after all, Miles’ son.

“I’ve never actually seen the beast and Dom in the same place,” he said sadly.

“But he brought you here after you were injured by the creature,” Yusuf interjected, brow furrowed.

“He called me earlier in the day saying the beast had been spotted, but he wasn’t there when I arrived. I engaged on my own, got mauled, may or may not have passed out a little bit, then the beast was gone and Dom was there. Unfortunately that’s not conclusive of anything,” Arthur said, looking as if it pained him to say so.

“Yes, well, as interesting as it is to discuss my son’s potential lycanthropy,” Miles interrupted, “Cerdic mentioned the possibility of a genetic mutation passed down through a family line, but my wife and I are both English. It’s Mallorie’s family that hails from Lozere.”

“I assume it’s safe to say they’ve been in that region a very long time too?” Eames asked, not surprised in the least when Miles nodded slowly.

“Mal’s the beast,” Arthur sighed. “I stabbed my cousin’s wife.”

“Well to be fair, darling, she did get you back,” Eames said, gesturing at the dark blood still seeping through Arthur’s bandages.

Arthur ignored him, suddenly filled with a sense of urgency. “She followed Dom to Paris. She’s going after him for some reason and we let him walk right out the door _alone_.”

“That’s what he gets for throwing a tantrum,” Ariadne muttered. Arthur ignored her too.

“We have to go after him,” Arthur insisted, reaching for his bloody, shredded shirt that had been previously heaped on a side table.

“I’m not sure you should be going anywhere, Arthur,” Yusuf said, reaching out for Arthur’s shoulder in order to push him back down onto the couch. Arthur didn’t ignore that.

“Get me a new shirt,” he growled turning on Yusuf with fire in his eyes.

Yusuf looked as if he might argue for a moment; then visibly thought better of it, hurrying into another room and returning within minutes.

Yusuf was shorter than Arthur and a bit rounder, and very fond of tunics. The shirt he had to help Arthur don was made of a gauzy white material that reached Arthur’s knees. The neckline was far too wide and exposed both of Arthur’s finely etched collarbones and a good portion of his sternum. Eames loved it.

“We have no idea where Dom even is right now. Did he go home, did he go to the university, did he jump off a bridge? How are we supposed to find one guy in all of Paris?” Ariadne complained after the sixth time Dom’s cell rang to voicemail.

“I have an idea,” Arthur said softly, hitching the tunic up for the millionth time when it started to slip over one shoulder. “Dom is really sentimental and he thinks Mal is dead. Every year on their anniversary they have a picnic at the spot where Dom proposed. He’ll go there. I’m sure of it.”

“Then we go there,” Miles determined.

“Yes, but what will you do when you get there?” Yusuf asked. “You have no plan.”

“Well, there has to be a way to stop it, right? It happened before and assuming the hunter was La Bete he got it under control somehow.” Ariadne looked far more optimistic than the rest of them.

“But we don’t _know_ the hunter was the beast. What if it was a relative and he was forced to put them down, then he disposed of the body to hide the family secret?” Eames didn’t like Dom much, but he did feel bad for the man. He couldn’t imagine what he would do if it were Arthur and he’d barely known the man a month.

“We don’t have time to figure it out here. We have to find Dom before Mal does,” Arthur insisted.

“Well, I bid you all good luck. Try not to get blood on my shirt, Arthur. I like that one quite a lot.”

“Oi, you’re not coming?” Eames rounded on Yusuf.

“No, no. I have a business to run. I’ve already been closed too long. But really, do try not to die. Especially you, Eames. You’re my favorite.”

“Oh, thanks. Don’t I feel like a bloody special snowflake,” Eames muttered, but he was already moving to Arthur’s side in case the man needed to brace himself as he walked. Arthur didn’t lean into him, but he did smile briefly, there and gone in an instant.

…

They took a cab to the university, the four of them squeezing into the back while the cabbie kept his eyes on the road, never mentioning Arthur’s sword or any of their grim demeanors. They were close enough to the campus, but with Arthur’s injuries it would have taken too much of a toll on his strength and too much time to walk.

“Dom proposed to his wife here?” Eames marveled as they headed for a thatch of birch trees within view of the infamous duck pond.

Arthur smirked at him. “Guess this place holds sentimental value for a few people huh?” Then he winked and Eames’ heart nearly stopped.

“You’re a minx, you know that?”

“And you like me anyway.”

“God help me, I do,” Eames breathed, watching Arthur’s profile in the moonlight. He liked him quite a lot.

“Classes should all be out, so we should be safe enough there,” Miles said, scanning the area for his son. It was eerily quiet, which had them all on high alert, calm before the storm and all that.

“There he is!” Arthur shouted finally, after they’d spent ten minutes searching fruitlessly.

Eames was beginning to give up, but he looked to where Arthur was pointing, and true enough there was Dom and he wasn’t alone.

Dom was on his back in the grass, trying to inch himself up a small slope with little success. Growling over him stood the beast, her sharp teeth only inches from his neck. He looked terrified and helpless. His sword had fallen several feet away, completely out of reach, and the beast had him pinned. Arthur started to rush forward, brandishing his own sword, but Eames grabbed his arm and held him back.

“Are you out of your mind?” He hissed. “You’re injured. You can barely keep yourself upright! She’ll eat you alive!”

“I have to do something!” Arthur yelled, pulling his arm from Eames’ grasp with a gasp of pain.

“Give me your sword,” Eames demanded. Arthur looked at him as if he was out of his mind. “Give me the sword, Arthur. I’ve already proven I know how to use it, haven’t I?”

“You got in a lucky shot!”

“That’s better than you’ll be able to get in your condition,” Eames sneered, staring Arthur down. They were practically toe-to-toe, glaring fiercely at each other.

“Hey, guys, as hot as this homoerotic display of chivalry is, I think Mal knows we’re here.”

They both turned to see Ariadne gesturing across the pond where La Bete was still standing protectively over her prey, but staring right at their group with her burning red gaze. Eames took his chance, swiping the sword from Arthur’s grasp while he was distracted and charging with a guttural battle cry. He skirted the pond to avoid anything else that might be lingering in it besides ducks and turtles, swinging the sword above his head. In his mind he pictured himself a bit like Braveheart, but the comical look on Dom’s face, even as he was still trapped under a giant man eating monster told him that was probably not the case.

He reached the beast and prepared to strike, heart hammering wildly against his ribcage, running entirely on adrenaline. But before he could bring the sword down against the beast’s head, she crumpled beneath the weight of a rather large tree branch. Eames stood dumbfounded, sword hanging loosely at his side and mouth gaping open, until the ground began to vibrate with a loud growl and the beast opened her eyes. She struggled with the weight of the branch, seeming a bit dazed, but it was clear it wasn’t going to hold her for long.

Eames rushed to Dom, grasping the man’s forearm to pull him to his feet and drag him back toward the group. He turned, intending to get as far away from the beast as possible now that the adrenaline rush had worn off and his brain was functioning properly again, and came face to face with Robert Fischer.

“Hello, Professor,” Fischer said cheerily. He looked like something out of a ballet performance of A Midsummer Night’s Dream that Eames had seen once, with his hair all in disarray and leaves strategically placed to cover his naughty bits.

The beast began to rise behind them and Fischer frowned. In a split second, the roots from the closest trees broke out of the ground and grew over her, effectively caging her in. Only the brilliant crimson of her eyes could be seen in the darkness of her tree root prison. Fischer smiled and clapped his hands, turning back to Eames and Dom.

“I should have known,” Eames managed to croak, just as Arthur and the rest of them reached his side.

“Dom. Dom!” Arthur repeated, finally grabbing Dom by the elbow and forcibly turning him away from the beast.

Dom’s eyes were glazed and he was breathing shallowly. “Why didn’t it kill me? It had me on the ground, but it just kept snarling at me.” Dom was shaking quite visibly at this point and Arthur had to grab him by both shoulders to still him.

“It – she _is_ a loup garou, Dom. We think it’s Mal.”

Dom’s gaze sharpened minutely and his back stiffened. “That thing killed Mal,” he spat.

“No, Dom. Mal’s the beast. We don’t know why she turned or how to get her back, but we’re pretty sure it’s her.”

Dom’s expression went through a war of emotions in seconds, from disbelief to outright rage and back again, before finally crumpling into a shattered facsimile of his earlier bravado. He was just a man who’d lost the love of his life and was currently facing the possibility that he may have to lose her all over again if their theory was correct. They had no idea how to bring her back or if it was even possible to get through to her at all.

Shakily Dom turned back to the tree root cage where the beast was still growling away, throwing herself bodily at the roots encaging her, as if she could force them to give way and let her free. Dom took a few weak steps, holding his hand out palm forward, as if to placate the beast. Arthur instinctively went after him, fear etched on his face, but Eames easily held him back with a hand on his shoulder.

“This is his demon to face,” Ariadne said sadly from behind them, as they all watched Dom walk toward the proverbial lion’s den.

“Mal?” It came out as a half choked sob and Dom fell to his knees before the roots, wrapping his fingers around a tree limb and raising his head enough to meet the beast’s eyes. “Mal? Honey, is it you?”

The Beast only growled, but rather than throw herself at the cage again she brought her face forward and pressed her snout against the opening closest to Dom’s face. The beast huffed a breath that blew Dom’s hair back from his face but he didn’t shy away.

“Mal, honey, if it’s you… Oh God, Mal, please. I love you. And the kids. The kids miss you more than you could know. Please come back me, Mal. _Please_.”

Tears streaked over Dom’s cheeks and he bowed his head with the force of a racking sob, uncurling his fingers from the tree root in order to curl into himself. Arthur brimmed with repressed energy beside Eames, but he remained where he was, albeit reluctantly. Finally it was Miles that moved, expression clear and open and full of awe.

“The growling’s stopped,” he marveled and when Eames listened closely, he found it was true.

He could hear no hint of the beast’s earlier rumblings and when he looked he could no longer see the beast’s angry red eyes in the dark of the cage. Instead a pale hand slipped through the roots to rest on the back of Dom’s head, slim fingers smoothing back his hair. Dom shot up like he’d been struck by lightning, eyes wide and disbelieving. He began frantically trying to tear the roots away with his own bare hands but they were too strong.

“Mr. Fischer?”

“Oh!” Fischer closed his eyes and the roots began to retreat back into the ground, exposing a very beautiful and very naked woman curled up beneath them.

Dom immediately gathered the woman into his arms, careful in his touches as if she might break or disappear. It was a moving scene and Eames was had to wipe a tear or two away surreptitiously as he watched the couple’s reunion. Arthur was forced to give up his shirt again so that Mal could have something to wear once Dom finally let her go, though he kept staring at her as if he couldn’t quite believe she was real. He may have been an absolute prick, but Eames couldn’t help but be happy that it had all worked out.

“So, Professor, about that T.A. position?” Fischer said to him, as the group began dispersing, shoulders slumped and weary after the excitement.

“Oh it’s yours. Of course it’s yours. You clearly have the proper experience to T.A. a class about faeries, don’t you think?”

Fischer smiled brightly, positively pleased, and waved before gracefully hefting himself up into one of the birch trees.

“So, Eames. How much do you wanna bet you drew Fischer as the Ghillie Dhu?” Ariadne asked, bumping their shoulders together companionably.

“I will not be taking that bet, Ariadne, as I only play to win.”

…

“Great semester, Professor,” Fischer said with a smile as he handed off the last of the final exams from the undergraduate level class Eames had enlisted Fischer to T.A. He’d proven to be a responsible and competent colleague and a great help with Eames’ workload. There was only so much Ariadne could do on her own after all and she’d be finishing her own doctorate this year, leaving him without someone to keep him in line. Robert Fischer was only in his first year of graduate work and Eames already had his eye on him to become his next primary assistant. That Robert essentially lived in a tree on campus barely fazed him at all anymore.

“That it has been, Mr. Fischer. I’ll see you after the holidays, yea?”

“Of course, Professor! Have a happy solstice!”

Eames still had to stay for a few hours more just in case any of his students wanted their work back and he’d still needed to input the grades into the computer – his least favorite part of teaching. Luckily Ariadne wasn’t gone yet and together they managed to slog through most of the work in only a few more hours. He was well and truly feeling the drag of the end of the day after a time though, shoulders tight and eyelids drooping, when his office phone began to ring.

“Dr. Eames’ office,” Ariadne answered, voice flat with boredom and fatigue. “Oh. Mr. Saito. Hello, how are you? Yes, of course he’s here. Just one moment.” Ariadne’s voice picked up enthusiasm as she spoke and gestured to Eames from across the room.

Eames shook himself as he picked up the phone, trying to quickly get some energy back into his body. “Mr. Saito, hello.”

“Ah, Dr. Eames. I am glad I was able to reach you before you left your office. I received the new pages you submitted for the section on French beasts.”

“Oh? And your thoughts?”

“Very interesting. I had never heard of La Bete du Gevaudan before, I must admit.”

“Yes, well, I only became interested in it myself just a few months ago.”

“I wanted to let you know that with this final addition, we are ready to publish. I am prepared to set aside however many early copies you would like for family and friends.”

“Ah, that’s – that is quite the news.” Eames smiled to himself. This was his life’s work and it was bittersweet almost to see it come to fruition so quickly. “Perhaps just five to begin with, Mr. Saito. Thank you.”

“You are very welcome, Dr. Eames. It has been a pleasure working with you and I wish you luck in your future endeavors.”

“Well that’s quite the blessing, I think, coming from you. I appreciate it.”

“We’ll be in touch, I’m sure, Dr. Eames,” Saito said finally, and Eames swore he could hear a smile in the man’s voice.

When he hung up, Ariadne was grinning at him, jacket on and satchel slung over shoulder. “I think it’s safe to head out,” she said, glancing out the window at the dark sky. “Everybody’s already out celebrating the end of the semester and I have a date. If anybody else wants their finals they can e-mail you.”

“A date, eh?”

“With a doctor,” she said with a smirk.

“And where did you meet a doctor?”

“Well, a witch doctor. But I’m not planning on telling my mother that.”

“Tell Yusuf hello for me then,” Eames said as he locked the door to his office.

“Will do,” she said with a mock salute, nearly bouncing as she walked down the hall.

…

When he passed Yusuf’s shop, Eames was pleased to see the lights were off and the sign on the door was flipped to ‘Closed’. Eames smiled to himself, adjusting his satchel strap across his chest as he walked. It was a chill night being December and Eames could feel the cold even through his coat, but the lights of the city had simply looked too beautiful to miss, so he’d chosen to walk back to his flat. Only a few blocks away from his apartment building, Eames tilted his face up against the slight breeze and decided to simply enjoy the night.

It was still hard for him to believe that on this very street, only a few months before, he had been witness to something incredible. The street on this night was peaceful and quiet, like it had been on that fateful night that he first encountered La Bete and Arthur. He barely noticed as he passed the very alleyway that Arthur had disappeared down that night, as he’d passed it so many nights before. He heard a rustling and the clank of a metal trash bin being disturbed, but he assumed it was a cat and didn’t even glance back. That was his biggest mistake.

He noticed that the rustling sound had continued even after he’d passed the alley after only half a block, and he instinctively wrapped a hand around the strap of his satchel, expecting a mugger behind him. He turned sharply, as if he could perhaps take his stalker by surprise, at the same time pulling a can of mace from his bag.

“Ha!” He shouted, brandishing the mace and hoping to take his potential attacker off guard. Only there was no one there.

He looked around in confusion for a moment before his gaze finally settled on a black rat snuffling along in the shadows. It was so dark he could barely make it out, but it was eerily large, almost the size of a small dog. Eames grimaced, but the fight had gone out of him quickly and he suddenly felt very dumb.

“That’s quite a bit of noise for such a little creature,” he muttered to himself, turning back around and continuing toward his flat.

The rustling continued behind him and his skin began to crawl, but he steadfastly continued forward, convinced it was only the rat and nothing else. He was in sight of his building when he felt fingers curled around the collar of his coat and yanked him backward and into the shadows, a palm covering his mouth before he could shout.

He struggled, trying to elbow his attacker in the side, but the assailant moved too quickly for him, avoiding his blows and hissing in his ear. Eames grunted and threw all his weight backward, shoving his attacker into the brick wall behind them with as much force as he could muster. The grip on him loosened enough that he was able to wrench away and lunge forward, escaping his attacker’s grip. He whirled around, mace still in hand, only to see his assailant struggling with another man.

Both Eames’ attacker and the newcomer were lithe with dark hair, but the mugger’s was long and greasy and hung in his face, while the newcomer’s was slicked back in a severe style. Eames smiled wide as he watched the two men struggle. The newcomer had an arm around the mugger’s throat and a grim look on his face. As the assailant began to lose consciousness, the newcomer let him sink to the concrete, still putting pressure on his windpipe.

Eames watched in surprise as the man’s skin began to ripple and darken and eventually flicker between human skin and fur. The man’s sharp features also began to change, his teeth elongating and whiskers sprouting from his upper lip. When a tail sprouted from his lower back, it was clear the rat that Eames had seen just moments before hadn’t been a normal one.

“A matagot,” he grumbled as the newcomer snapped the attacker’s neck and the entire body shrunk and shriveled up. “I should have known.”

The man tossed the dried up husk away and grinned at Eames. “I just hate it when I try to surprise my boyfriend and something’s trying to eat him. It really puts a damper on things, don’t you think?”

“Quite,” Eames agreed wholeheartedly, holding his arms out for Arthur to step into.

Arthur took the invitation happily, practically throwing himself into Eames’ arms and pressing their mouths firmly together. He kissed Eames like a drowning man desperate for air and Eames reciprocated quite willingly.

“I missed you,” Arthur said with a content smile once he finally pulled away. They fell into step, Arthur tangling their fingers together deliberately.

“And I you, darling. And how are the Cobbs fairing?”

Arthur’s smile softened. “They’re doing good. Mal had no idea lycanthropy had ever run in her family. She knew her ancestor had been the one to put down La Bete, but she always thought it was just a story. We still don’t know what prompted her to shift, but it looks like she’s getting it under control. She can even shift certain parts of her body at will now. It’s pretty impressive. You’ll have to go see now that you’re on break.”

“Perhaps I will, but I’ve more important things to think about just at this moment.”

“Oh?” Arthur smirked at him, one eyebrow raised cheekily.

“Oh yes. They involve the thorough bedding of a dapper young monster hunter.”

“Not a hunter.”

“Yes, darling, but supernatural policeman just doesn’t quite roll off the tongue the same way.”

Eames laughed at Arthur’s indignation and pulled him through the door to his flat, tugging the man to his chest and kissing him filthily until his protests were forgotten. He got them both halfway undressed and Arthur straddled across his lap on the bed, before he remembered, pulling away briefly. He was forced to put a hand to Arthur’s sweaty chest, holding him back when he whined and tried to follow Eames’ lips.

“Did you remember to turn your phone off, Arthur?” He gasped out, curling his fingers over Arthur’s shoulder even as he kept holding the other man back.

Arthur huffed a laugh and slapped Eames’ arm, before ducking his head. His normally neat hair fell into his face and the dimples Eames’ loved so much creased his cheeks.

“Yes, I turned it off. There won’t be any interruptions this time. It’s just us, _Doctor_ Eames.”

Laughing, Eames grabbed Arthur by the hips and flipped them, dropping Arthur onto the bed and crawling over him. As he kissed his way up Arthur’s chest to his neck, he focused only on the taste of Arthur’s skin and the rough feel of Arthur’s many scars beneath his lips, and did his best to forget all the monsters outside his door. They could wait until the morning.

FIN


End file.
